


"Pick Who Dies"/Kidnapping

by Agib



Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Spencer Reid, Blackmail, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kidnapping, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Protective Team, Sacrifice, Self-Sacrifice, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26754880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agib/pseuds/Agib
Summary: “I want you,” he hisses, “to pick who dies.”Hotch doesn’t allow himself to react, he only stares right back at the man. Rossi can hear his teeth grinding together from three feet away.“No.”The man narrows his eyes, schooling his expressions just as Hotch had.“Then you all die,” he says plainly. “That’s my compromise. One of your choosing or all of them.”
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner & The BAU Team, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945771
Comments: 9
Kudos: 350
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	"Pick Who Dies"/Kidnapping

**Author's Note:**

> <3 for my Beta, , and her Ao3: [rxseinbloom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxseinbloom/pseuds/rxseinbloom/works)  
> And her gorgeous tumblr: [@rxseinbloom](https://rxseinbloom.tumblr.com/)

_Oh I swear – if this is about a new case…_

“Morgan,” he answers his phone stiffly.

“Hey.” The response is soft, airy in a way. Morgan relaxes, shoulders coming down from their rigid perch. He takes a moment to whistle at Clooney, who gives a disinterested huff in response, preoccupied with his bone.

“What’s up, kid?” He tucks his cell against his ear and squashes it against his shoulder with a lopsided grin. It’s quarter to nine on a Friday night and playing the ‘guess why Reid’s calling’ game is entertaining enough.

Last Wednesday it was a broken faucet, the month prior had been a jammed curtain rail. About four weeks into their first year of friendship it had been a blown light bulb. Morgan had thought he was kidding at first, the biggest brain in the BAU couldn’t figure out how to change a bulb? He would’ve poked fun at the kid – was probably planning to next time they were in the office – but then he’d remembered how old Reid was when his father left, and quickly realised his mother may have been unable to teach him the basics with her rapidly declining state of awareness. 

Then again, he did have an engineering degree and Morgan soon hypothesised that the poor kid probably didn’t know how else to start a conversation.

“Uhm,” there’s a crinkle of static as Reid assumingly adjusts the grip he has on the phone. “C – can you come out to the curb?”

“Huh?” It takes him a moment to process what the kid means.

“Please, meet me out front?” Morgan swallows, already waving an arm and snapping his fingers at Clooney to usher him inside. The dog stubbornly waddles in past the sliding door, bone and all. “Derek?” The use of his first name surprises him enough that it takes a second for him to realise he hasn’t given a response yet, too preoccupied getting himself ready to leave.

“Yeah – yeah, ‘course,” he answers hurriedly. “Let me just grab a jacket. Won’t be a minute.” He’s halfway through pouring food into the dog bowl when the line clicks off. He cusses quietly, tucking the phone away and yanking his keys out. He knows it must be bad if the kid doesn’t hang around to offer him a mumbled goodbye over the phone.

He gives a half-hearted scratch behind Clooney’s ear, flicks off the kitchen light and shovels his feet into a pair of shoes. The front door slams behind him, and he can already see a car parked by his front curb.

It’s the bureau issued SUV, which is odd but not unheard of for Reid. If he stays past sunset, Hotch tells him to take one home instead of the subway – ever the worried parent of the team. The interior light is on, so he can clearly see the kid sat in the driver’s seat even with the slightly tinted windows.

Reid doesn’t even look at Morgan when he opens the door and slips into the passenger side, he stays staring vacantly out the windshield. His fingers twitch against the steering wheel.

Morgan reaches across the car and lays one of his hands over the shaky digits. “Cravings getting bad again?” He asks gently, no judgement in his tone, only soft understanding. Reid squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I said you never have to be,” Morgan soothes. Reid just shakes his head minutely, eyes glassy in the dim light.

“No, I – I’m _sorry_ ,” he repeats, voice calmer this time. Morgan opens his mouth, ready to continue arguing.

“You’re wrong,” someone in startlingly close proximity interjects. “He probably should be sorry,”

Morgan turns to face the backseat so fast his neck cricks in disapproval. 

He stiffens all over again as he watches a handgun pull away from the base of Spencer’s skull where it had been wedged between the headrest of the driver’s seat. The barrel turns to face him instead.

“Reid?!” He thinks for a moment this is some twisted joke, that the kid will dissolve into awkward laughter, that maybe – just maybe – it’s his weak attempt at continuing the prank war they had going.

Spencer just looks down at his lap, first tear dripping onto the leather of his seat. His knuckles must be creaking with the amount of force he’s using to grip the wheel.

“Now, Doc,” the man in the backseat hums. “If you wouldn’t mind joining me back here?” The gun is aimed at Morgan’s chest, although the man’s eyes remain on Spencer, his instructions perfectly clear.

Morgan whirrs through a snap judgement profile as Spencer clambers between the front seats shakily, looking far more than apologetic as he does so.

The man – their current kidnapper and unsub – has no mask on, which isn’t good for their chances of survival. Organised, clearly, as he’s managed to get two fully qualified agents caught beneath his thumb. With the effectiveness of the lure he’s used, Morgan is inclined to believe the man has been watching them or has done extensive research. 

Hardly anyone knows that Morgan would drop anything to ease the strain of cravings for the kid. The man has likely run this routine before, if the calmness in his voice and steady hand have anything to say about it. The safety on the gun is off, and he’s holding it properly. This is obviously not an unfamiliar dance for him.

“Be my guest,” the man urges, nodding towards the empty driver’s seat and rudely interrupting his line of profiling. The gun moves seamlessly from Morgan, to Reid’s side when his direction isn’t immediately followed. He obviously understands their dynamic. One of them would only comply completely if the other was put in danger, hence Morgan’s sudden urge to follow orders once the weapon is at Reid’s waist.

“What do you want?” Morgan grits out through clenched teeth.

“For now? Only that you start the car and head East-bound until my next direction.” He glances in the mirror, bypassing the man’s gaze to meet Spencer’s guilt-ridden eyes. “Now, please,” their unsub presses, the gun jerking forward until it jabs against the kid’s ribcage with a jolt.

He obediently swallows a foul curse and manoeuvres himself over the gearshift and into the driver’s seat. “Thank you,” the man drawls in response.

Morgan bites back a response which could hurt Reid and instead starts the car, pulling out from the curb with a scowl set on his face.

They drive in silence. Morgan says nothing, Reid sits frozen with the gun against his ribs, and the only sound to break it up is the man’s cold, even directions. He seems to be keeping them off busy roads deliberately, opting for backways in place of anything else.

“You can’t,” Spencer hisses after almost twenty-minutes. It has been quiet for so long, Derek fights to not knock the wheel at the sudden noise.

“I very much can, and am,” the man replies. Morgan doesn’t have a clue what’s happening until he hears a distinct, “pull over here,” and realises this isn’t just another convoluted residential shortcut.

“Don’t,” Reid snaps. The remorseful kid who blamed himself for getting Morgan wound up in a hostage situation is gone. In his place, a vicious agent hellbent on finding them a way out of it.

“I wasn’t asking,” the man replies, voice equally as demanding.

Under any normal circumstance, Morgan wouldn’t have to consciously force himself to choose Reid’s orders over anyone else’s, but once a loaded gun is thrown into the mix… It’s a different story.

He can hear Spencer’s teeth grinding together as he slows down and pulls to the side of the road as instructed.

They’re at Hotch’s address.

“He has a _family_ ,” Spencer seethes venomously. Their unsub only snorts, screwing his face up in amusement before answering.

“Sure. What’s left of one,” he laughs.

So, this man had been watching them for a month at the very least, based on the assumption that Hotch signed the divorce papers when he said he had.

Something about knowing this man had been watching them all for so long, undetected, turns his stomach.

There’s movement from the backseat and Morgan watches in the mirror as the man leans forward and switches off the interior light, making them imperceptible from the sidewalk. The gun never wavers from its position at Reid’s side as he moves. “Leave the car running and take your phone out.”

“Morgan –” Reid starts.

“ _Ah_ , ah,” their unsub snaps. He takes a deep inhale, as if trying to calm himself around bickering children. “Ring your boss,” he states smoothly, in the midst of containing himself.

“We aren’t imbecilic,” Reid points out rather sharply. “This isn’t some master plan you’re going to be able to perfectly pull off.”

Digging right in where it hurts seems to be the route Spencer is treading along. Insulting not only their unsub’s understanding of them, but the handle he has on his own plan. Narcissism is what Spencer’s picked as their man’s fatal flaw.

“Shut it,” the man snaps, only proving Spencer’s hypothesis. “Ring him,” he repeats after a pause in which he takes a deep breath to calm himself.

Morgan rolls his jaw, looking torn between the man holding a loaded gun to his best friend, and his best friend himself.

“What do you want me to say if he picks up?”

“ _When_ he picks up,” their unsub interjects. “Don’t assume I’m ignorant, I know he answers every single call made to his work phone.”

Derek meets Spencer’s eyes in the mirror, exchanging a wordless _narcissistic stalker-turned-kidnapper,_ assessment.

“You’re going to tell him there was an accident and Spencer is in the ER now. You tell him you’re outside and he needs to hurry.” The man must’ve been watching them for at least a month, when their last case is. There was no other way he would know about how Hotch’s protective nature and self-imparted responsibility kicked in when one of them was hurt or in danger.

“You’re insane,” Spencer murmurs from the back seat.

“Don’t, just don’t,” Derek says this time. He didn’t need Hotch to walk in on Spencer being pistol whipped. “I’ll call him, but you have to put the gun away.”

Their unsub laughs vivaciously, shaking the weapon slightly, causing Spencer to tense awkwardly in the direction away from the threat.

“This isn’t a negotiation. You either call your boss and get him in the car or I fire,” he stares blank-faced now, deadly serious. “That’s the deal.”

\----

“Hotchner,” he answers. Jack throws his stuffed bear at him from across the couch, and Hotch mimics his usual ‘growl face’ which elicits a squee of joy from the young boy.

“Aaron.”

“Morgan? What’s happening?” He clicks his tongue and scoops Jack’s bear up, shaking it gently in front of his face until Jack lurches forward into his lap and grabs it. “Talk to me,” he prompts after several long seconds of silence.

“It - it’s um - it’s Spencer.”

Derek’s tone is off in a way Hotch can’t place, and he raises a finger where Jessica is packing her handbag ready to head out for the night.

“What about Spencer?” He presses, cautious at the strain in his agent’s voice.

“There was an accident,” Derek admits quietly. “I need you outside, he’s - he’s in the ER now.”

Jessica must see his face paleing because she nods and makes a ‘come here’ gesture which Jack happily responds to by padding across the kitchen floor.

“I’m on my way, where are you now?”

“By the curb,” Morgan answers stiffly. “Please hurry.” Again, there’s something in the man’s voice that suggests more than fear for their youngest agent.

“Alright, give me three minutes.” He hangs up before Derek gets a word in edgewise. He pulls on a jacket, briefly explains the conversation to Jessica before leaning over the table, sticking a finger in Jack’s apple sauce and dabbing it onto his nose. “Love you buddy, be home later tonight, okay?”

“Kay,” the boy mumbles, sticking his tongue out to attempt to lick the apple sauce from the tip of his nose while Hotch shoves his wallet into his pocket, tugs on his boots and leaves the house.

As Derek promised, the car is out front, the interior lights are off which he assumes can be attributed to the rush Derek must be in. What he doesn’t understand is why the vehicle he was in was the bureau’s mandated one. He supposes Derek could have easily stayed much later than he had, and taken one home instead of calling a taxi if he’d had car problems of his own.

“Morgan, tell me what happened,” he says as he steps into the passenger seat.

Derek is glaring ahead through the windscreen, his brows heavyset darkly. 

“Dere -”

“Mr. Hotchner,” someone who is certainly not Morgan says.

\----

The room they’re in is dark but large enough for the three of them to (regrettably) slip inside to join the remainder of the team. Emily, JJ, Penelope and Rossi sit unhappily in the corner, looking disgruntled but surprised to see them as they’re shepharded into the room.

“How the hell did all of you get here?” Derek asks angrily, pointedly aimed at the man who - only now they’re all safely inside the room - lowers the gun from Spencer’s side.

“We’ve been over this already,” Emily says tiredly. “You three are late to the party.” Hotch levels her with a glare that says _not the time to be a smartass_. Emily rolls her eyes but recounts each of their stories. “Rossi hit on her and came back here on his own -”

“Hey, I didn’t know she was an unsub!”

“JJ and Penelope fell for the good ol’ ‘help me, my son is missing’ and I got blitzed for being too cynical of a random woman asking me to -”

“I was being NICE!”

“Wait, wait, yours was female?” Derek asks. He’s met with several nods. “Okay, well we’re looking at a hostage situation with partnered unsubs, then.”

“Considering the method of abduction, I think it’s safe to say the man who just brought us in is the dominant force of the pair,” Spencer points out. “But we don’t have a motivation for _why_ they wanted us specifically.”

“Well we’re going to have to wait it out then, aren’t we?” Rossi says dispassionately. 

“God,” Hotch sighs, propping himself up against the wall opposite Rossi. 

Spencer tucks himself nervously between where Derek has sat a foot across from Penelope and Emily, allowing himself to rest his chin on his drawn-in knees.

He tilts his head, looking for Derek’s eyes and smiling sadly when he finds them.

“I would’ve um - I would've told you to stay inside -”

“It’s fine, kid. Sometimes you just can’t win everything. He had a gun,” Derek points out.

“I know, I just - I think seeing your best friend’s brain smeared across the front console would’ve been a bit… yeah,” he trails off anxiously, blinking through the dark. Derek huffs out a soft chuckle.

“You’re good, Spencer. I promise, nobody blames you.” Spencer visibly relaxes, his shoulders loosening in response. He nods once, a silent thanks for reassurance.

They sit in the quiet for several long minutes before both Penelope and Spencer get bored enough to start a conversation, and eventually the room begins to feel much like the trip home in the jet. Loud, comfortable, homely.

They didn’t really stop to think about their unsubs, nor did they consider planning for something they didn’t know would occur.

\----

“I want one of them.”

“They have names,” Emily mutters from the corner. She earns a scowl in response.

Hotch is the only one being directly addressed, everyone else in the team sits patiently, listening and analysing. 

The male unsub stands in the room with the female in the doorway, both eyes set on Hotch.

“What do you want them _for_?” Hotch answers with a question, which only sets their unsub further on edge.

“I want you,” he hisses, “to pick who dies.”

Hotch doesn’t allow himself to react, he only stares right back at the man. Rossi can hear his teeth grinding together from three feet away.

“No.”

The man narrows his eyes, schooling his expressions just as Hotch had.

“Then you all die,” he says plainly. “That’s my compromise. One of your choosing or all of them.”

The team sat placidly, not daring to interject. “You have ten minutes to decide if you need it.”

And with only that exchange, they’re left alone again.

“He’s Riley Cartner’s Father,” Penelope says quietly. “From two cases ago.”

“The fourth victim,” Spencer recalls. “I didn’t recognise them, I was never there for the interview JJ did with them.” The team turns to their liaison, who nods solemnly.

“They left the local PD messages after we left once everything was solved,” JJ admits sadly. “Riley was the last victim we couldn’t save, but we did rescue the last victim. They were furious about it.” She shakes her head, as if ridding herself of the horrible thoughts of victims dying under their watch. “I only learnt about the threats on their answering machines last week.”

Hotch takes in the information, pondering for several minutes.

“I’ll go,” he declares.

“Uh, they’re not gonna go for that,” Spencer says pointedly. “‘A member of your team,’ not you.”

“I have a son who I almost lost, they’ll understand me. Empathise.” Hotch argues.

“No, man. No they won’t. Your son is alive, that’s just going to make them angrier, think of this like it’s a profile, you know they’ve devolved,” Derek interjects. He makes a fair point.

“Then what about me? My sister died, I used to blame my parents just like they’re blaming us,” JJ says confidently. “Empathy can talk them down, why don’t we go with it?”

“Because I’m _not_ sending any of you out there to die!” Hotch snaps. His voice echoed slightly in the space, and everyone pipes down as he takes a few breaths.

“If you refuse to send one of us out there who could potentially talk them down or escape, all of us die.” Spencer blinks, cocking his head in Aaron’s direction and attempting to force logic into him.

“I don’t… I can’t put any of you at risk like that, regardless.”

“Then… I mean, you heard him. We all die.” Spencer looks apologetic despite his blunt honesty.

“I’ll go.” Derek says firmly. Hotch has already opened his mouth to shut down the idea when Derek shoves forward with his explanation. “Look, firstly, my father died and I blamed myself for not stopping it. So, I’ve got the empathy down. If that doesn’t work… I go for the more physically aggressive route.” Derek has leaned all the way forward off the wall. “Come on, this makes sense. Trust me.”

“I’m not sending anyone out there.”

The fact is, the entire team is just as self-sacrificing as each other. There’s about two minutes of back and forth with all of them pitching some kind of idea or alternative, but all they have at the end of the discussion is sending in someone the pair is least likely to kill.

And this just happens to be Spencer.

“I’ve got a baby face, Pen and Em say it all the time. Their son was only seventeen,” he argues. Hotch was on the fence, leaning toward a flat-out _no_. Though he knew the chances of Spencer actually being killed were low, considering how many physical similarities he had to Riley Cartner, he could never forgive himself if he condemned an agent to death.

“Yeah, I say it because you look twelve, not because I think you should risk this,” Penelope mutters.

“Hotch,” Spencer says softly shuffling over to his corner of the room. “I had to do this to you, I had to pick someone to die. I trusted you to find me instead, you can trust me to get us out of this.”

The room is quiet, waiting for Hotch’s response which doesn’t come for a long time.

“Kid’s got a point, Aaron.” Rossi supplies helpfully.

“I just -”

He’s cut off by the door opening, and almost everyone turns their eyes from their unit chief to their unsub standing in the doorway.

“Decision made?” He less asks, more demands.

Hotch reaches out to grip Spencer’s wrist, speaking quietly as to not allow their unsub to overhear.

“If I let you do this, and it goes wrong. You run. You hear me? I don’t care if they have a gun, I don’t care if they threaten me, you defend yourself or you run, okay?”

Spencer nods diligently, though Hotch doesn’t hold much confidence in him considering the force of his self-sacrificial attitude.

“Spencer is - he’ll, uh - Spencer will go with you.”

Hotch expects some charade, or snide comment, but all the man does is jerk his head and crook a finger which Spencer follows obediently, already hunching himself inward to mimic their son’s five, ten height.

He sighs, letting his head hit the wood behind him. Rossi immediately promises he did the right thing, that Spencer will be fine. The shakes in his hands don’t cease, nor does the pit in his heart screaming _you killed him. You sent a young subordinate to their death._

\----

The room stays silent for fourteen minutes, and the team can no longer hear footsteps or muffled conversations. There hasn’t been the sound of a gunshot, which Hotch hopes is a good sign.

“He’ll be okay,” Emily says, both to Hotch, Derek and Penelope who seem to be struggling the most with this waiting game. 

“And if he’s not?” Penelope asks.

Derek shakes his head, not willing to entertain the idea of that outcome.

They fall into silence again.

Six minutes go by, each counted on Derek’s watch.

There _is_ a gunshot, after two more minutes.

Everyone pales or makes a sound akin to horror, and the most justified of course is Hotch’s noise of self-blame.

“Oh my g -”

“He could be okay! He can still be -”

“Stop! Shush.” Hotch yells, pushing upward and pressing his head against the entrance door, which is locked but not soundproofed, thankfully.

There’s a moment in which everyone simultaneously holds their breath, waiting further.

A scream sounds throughout the hall, a female voice. There’s a scuffle, a pained yelp, and Spencer - _God, Spencer, thank God_ \- who yells for someone to raise their hands.

Derek gets up and starts pounding on the door, not caring as Hotch presses against his shoulder to do the same.

“Reid! Reid, open up! What the hell is happening out there?!”

When the door finally does open, the two of them step back, rushed by the others as they all take in Spencer’s condition.

“Ambulance?” Derek asks quickly, surveying the blood staining both the kid’s chest and pants. He nods wordlessly, gesturing down the hall.

“Kitchen has all our phones on their counter. I don’t need EMT’s, the unsub does.” He’s stiff all over and looking slightly blank. Hotch makes eye contact with Rossi who silently ushers the rest of the team outside and into the kitchen.

“Reid…?” Hotch prompts.

“I made so much progress with them,” Spencer sighs. “He put the gun down, she even - she hugged me, thought I was a reincarnation of Riley.” Hotch nods placatingly as Spencer rubs the back of his wrist across his left eye, careful to avoid smearing any clotted blood. “But when I asked them t - to let you guys out, he went for the gun again and I couldn’t - I thought he would - would shoot you all.”

Spencer blinks wetly and looks up at him, his eyes wide and remorseful. “I had to - I had to shoot.”

“I know,” Hotch says, reaching out to awkwardly pat the kid’s back. “You did the right thing, you did good, Reid.”

“I know, I just - they were confused, they thought I was their son, I should’ve -”

“Hey,” Hotch says with a harsh tone, cutting off Spencer's self-doubts. “You did exactly what you had to, what did Gideon always tell you?”

The kid wrinkles his nose at the mention of his former mentor, struggling to cope with the emotional response without muddling his facial features. “Trust your gut,” Hotch fills in for him. “And you did that, so stop tearing yourself up over this one,” he orders.

“‘Kay,” Spencer murmurs, leaning back slightly into Hotch’s grasp on his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is [@ag-ib](https://ag-ib.tumblr.com/)
> 
> my heart goes <3<3<3 when anyone sends asks


End file.
